As Dust Dances (Play On 2)

“Nothing was ever good enough and while I didn’t care as long as I had Killian, my brother needed someone too. He was like a parent to me, so I’ve always had that kind of support and love in my life. But Killian lost his when our parents died. He didn’t have someone older to protect and love him. His dad is a criminal who has spent more time in prison than out—he’s currently behind bars—and my uncle . . .

“For the longest time, Killian wanted James to love him, to be there when life got hard. But when he realized that wasn’t going to happen, Killian strove to prove something to him. He’s brought more success to that label in the years he’s worked there than the label has seen in its entire thirty years. Do you think my uncle acknowledges that? Never. And as much as I try to convince Killian otherwise, all that does is drive him to do better, to get that elusive pat on the shoulder.

“It’s never coming.” She looked desolate. “And I don’t want my brother to lose himself trying.”

“Like Sisyphus,” I murmured, feeling bleak for O’Dea. “Rolling that damn boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down, an eternity of futility.”

“Exactly. But in my brother’s case, one of these days, that boulder is going to roll back down and flatten him.”

Feeling as if a weight had been placed on my shoulders, I sighed heavily. “Why are you telling me this, Autumn? I doubt very much that O’Dea would be happy you’ve told me something so personal about him.”

She drew to a stop outside a shoe store, strangers passing in my peripheral like blurs. She seemed to plead with me with her eyes. “You’re right. Killian would be so angry at me, which is why I’m going to ask you not to repeat any of this. But I’m worried about you both. I’m worried what happens when the tabloids come knocking because we know they will, Skylar. I’m worried for you and for my brother. And I don’t want you to hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Not now, you don’t,” she said, sounding almost prophetic.

Confused, I shook my head. “Why? Why does it matter if I hate him?”

Autumn exhaled slowly, shakily. “Because he’s not acting like himself. He hasn’t been acting like himself for weeks.”

Something fluttered in my chest. I didn’t know if it was panic or something worse. Like excitement. “And you think that has something to do with me?”

With a little smirk of knowing, Autumn turned and began walking again. “The timing is interesting.”

“We haven’t spoken in days,” I argued, but I did it knowing that deep down we hadn’t spoken in days because we had connected that night in the apartment. I suspected that freaked O’Dea out. No wonder. It would be the height of stupidity to explore that connection.

“Busker Girl?” a familiar voice called out before Autumn could reply.

The voice drew my gaze to the entrance of Argyle Arcade. Sitting on her own, shivering in a hoodie and sleeping bag was Mandy.

I moved toward her without even thinking about it, ignoring Autumn’s questioning voice as she followed me.

“Hey,” I said softly, not hiding my accent. “How’s it going?”

She grinned at me with those yellowing teeth. “Right as rain. So ye dropped the fake accent . . .” Her gaze flickered to Autumn and narrowed a little. “Got yerself a rich sponsor?”

“This is my friend.” I knelt, looking around. “No Ham?”

“Nah. I gave him the heave-ho.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was time.” She shivered, huddling into herself. “The man’s gonnae kill himself. I dinnae want to be there when he does.” Her eyes dropped to my cast. “What happened to ye, then?”

“Little prick tried to steal my guitar.”

Her expression turned admonishing. “I always worried about ye, Busker Girl.”

“You were right to. But I’m okay now.”

“Good. One less thing to worry about.” She coughed, deep and racking. It sounded like the chill had wrapped itself around her rib cage.

Feeling overwhelming sadness and concern for her, I stood and turned to Autumn who looked confused and distressed. “How much cash have you got?” I murmured under my breath.

“There’s a cash machine,” she whispered. “How much do you need?”

It was offered without hesitation. A wave of affection for this woman hit me so hard, it took me a minute to answer. “I’ll pay you back,” I promised.

“How much do you need?”

“A hundred?” I wanted to say more but I also didn’t want to take advantage.

She nodded and walked away, and I turned back to Mandy. “How’s life been treating you?”

Her eyes followed Autumn. “Who’s the lassie? Bonnie thing. She could be a model.” Envy soaked her words.

“She’s a friend. A good one. Good person.”

“Really?” Mandy turned back to look up at me. “Good-looking and good person dinnae usually go hand in hand.”

“My, what a cynic you are.”

“Aye, well,” she cocked her head, assessing me, “ye’re actually a bonnie girl too, now that ye’ve got some meat to you. And I know you’re a good person.”

“Am I?” I frowned. Because I’d deliberately not thought about the poor souls I’d left behind on the streets. It made me feel powerless on top of all the other emotions I was trying to manage.

“What? Bonnie, or a good person?” she teased.

I laughed. “I guess I’m neither.”

“Modesty doesnae suit ye.”

My grin felt forced. I was anxious for her and concerned she wouldn’t take what I was about to offer.

Autumn came back to my side and turned into me so she was facing away from Mandy. She murmured, “Three hundred,” and slipped the cash into my hand.

Surprised, I whipped my head around to look her in the eye. Are you sure?

She saw the question and nodded, squeezing my hand around the money.

Thank you.

I shrugged out of my coat, bending down to wrap it around Mandy. She smelled of stale sweat and bad breath, but I didn’t flinch.

“What are ye doing?” she asked.

“Take it.” I grabbed her hand with my good one and curled her fist around the money. “Three hundred,” I whispered. “Get yourself into a hostel. And now that you’re away from Ham, get yourself to Shelter Scotland or to someone who can help you find your feet, Mandy.”

I moved to pull my hand away but she grabbed onto me. “Good person,” she declared.

Tears burned in my eyes and I pulled back abruptly, standing, trying not to shiver now that I had no coat. “Take care of yourself.”

She slipped her arms into my coat, grinning. “You worry about yerself, Busker Girl. I’ll be all right.”

I waved as Autumn and I walked away. My friend—and I decided she most definitely was my friend—put her arm around my shoulders and declared, “We need to get you a bloody coat, pronto.”

WE WERE IN A STORE where I was trying on a lovely and very stylish wool coat when Autumn’s cell rang.

“It’s Killian,” she said before answering. “Hey, big bro. What’s up?” She eyed me, giving me a thumbs-up as I turned to let her see the coat from all sides. “Coat shopping. Skylar gave hers away to a homeless person . . . yes.” She grinned. “I did say that . . . Someone she knew . . . Well, she was homeless for a while, Killian, it isn’t shocking she made some friends.”

I laughed under my breath, slipping out of the coat to try another on.

“Because she was cold . . . I know that means now Skylar is cold, that’s why we’re buying her a replacement coat.”

I threw her an amused grin at the sound of laughter in her words.

“She was cold for less than five minutes . . . I can send you a photo to prove she’s perfectly okay, if that will help? . . . No, I’m not taking the piss out of you . . . No . . . fine . . . Killian, why are you calling?”

I studied myself in a nearby mirror and made a face at my reflection. When I looked over at Autumn, she was shaking her head too. I studied it in the mirror. It made me look like I was dressing up in my mother’s clothes.